


Perpetual Love: A PalmerStrange Ficlet

by ohdrey89



Series: Avengers: Age Of Drabbletron [7]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 3am ramblings, Angst and Feels, Cloak of Levitation (Marvel), Comfort/Angst, Don't let Audrey on Tumblr at 3am, Emotions, F/M, Mirror Universe, Missing Scene, POV Alternating, POV Second Person, POV Stephen Strange, Post-Canon, Sad, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 17:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16309547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohdrey89/pseuds/ohdrey89
Summary: He was the Sorcerer Supreme now, and Dr. Palmer knew, there was no cure that would fix this. He has a role to play, protecting the universe, and what she wants is a speck to be ignored. The irony isn't lost on her. Stephen Strange was always a bit of selfish bastard and now he was the least selfish man in the whole universe right when she needed him to not be that. Their timing had always been on the heavy side of inconvenient.Or Audrey should really stop scrolling through emotionally wrecking gifs of Stephen Strange at 3 in the morning, I mean really.





	Perpetual Love: A PalmerStrange Ficlet

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry I am not ignoring anything else I've promised to write on here, but this came to me at 3am. 3 AM!! Jesus H. Christ. On a Monday morning. And It wouldn't be ignored. So I wrote it down. I was a hostage to my emotions as you can tell. Tragic and impossible but you get to enjoy the results! 
> 
> These are the things that I read myself at 3am and emotionally incapacitate me regardless, and I know that sounds like a little pat on the back for myself but there it is, I won't take it back. Because it's true. I was crying. I WAS HAVING AN EMOTION! And now you must too. 
> 
> Disclaimer: We didn't create it, we're not making money from it. But that's not going to stop the ideas from coming, so here we all are anyway. We might as well live.

———

He couldn’t say that going back to her apartment was a _smart_ idea. But—

He was enough parts and shards, had enough bits, of a decent man to admit when something was the Right thing to do. And this—

It felt _right_.

He did the wise thing and teleported to a dark alley because _really_ Americans need to relax a little and just accept that weird things like dimension portals exist, but he didn’t want to scare her again.

The door was just a moment of fading through, allowing the smells of past tenants, histories of cooking, layers of paint, the pores of the wood to seep into his body’s leftover spaces and then he can see her through the sliding doors, standing on the balcony. Her nurses’ uniform is covered with the knitted blanket he knows she keeps at the foot of her bed. Her feet— her lovely, slender feet, were always perpetually cold. She lives alone, and the bed is probably arctic and it’s all his fault.

The idea is an ache, pulling at the back of his plebian subconscious that he suppresses now because he must, knows what’s at stake if he gave into the feelings of average, normal. The sorcerer supreme can’t afford to have hang ups about ex-girlfriends. The thought alone is absurd in the extreme.

———

Christine hears the sliding door, doesn’t turn. It’s obvious who could get into her apartment without making a sound but be polite enough to slide the glass door open to join her, so she wouldn’t startle. She’s looking at the stars and wondering just how small this all feels to someone who’s seen so much. The earth is just— minuscule, microscopic. A pale blue dot in a vast sea of nothingness in one universe out of infinite universes, in infinite realities. Or so Stephen explained it to her in a rush while he begged her to stop his heart and sew him up.

She sighs when he finally comes to stand next to her and they watch the night sky. She wonders if this sky looks dull to a man with so much power, while it makes her feel amazed and humbled.

The thought that this simple thing could be spoiled for someone she loves brings a wave of melancholy that fills her eyes before she can stop it. A tear spills over and runs down her cheek.

There’s a touch, his perfect hands callused by the labors he endured and the surgeries, and her soft, chilled, tender skin. A thumb is wiping away the stray tears.

“I want to show you something.” Stephen’s voice is craggy, and old. Fissures and cliffs cut into the Earth by water and time, multiplied by patience. Irrelevant to a man that can control time. With a gesture or two, he fractures the sky and the stars fade, taken up by new stars, by constellations she’d never see again in her lifetime, and within the stars spheres of probabilities, of universes, and dimensions bloom into the space like bubbles from a wand.

“So, you really are a wizard.” Christine gasps.

“…More like a sorcerer.” Stephen corrects.

“And you control time.” A statement not a question.

“I can manipulate time, space, dimensions, realities. I can hop from universe to universe, reality to reality. I can see any number of outcomes to any situation.” Stephen explains, and somehow behind his eyes Christine can see he’s tired and sad. It makes her want to cover him with her limbs and force him to be still— to _sleep_. The tears keep spilling over. He’s so _alone_. He’s right here but on this balcony, she still feels as if she’s the only one here.

“And you can see what happens to us?” Christine asks, curiosity insistent and unignorable.

There is a heavy pause, Christine doesn’t look to him for an answer, simply _waits_. “Do you mean in one of these permutations do I stop being a prick long enough to realize you were the best thing to ever happen to me and we move to the country, and raise our happy children until we grow old together until death parts us?” Once his mouth starts moving, Stephen can’t make it stop. Because he’s _seen_ it, can see it, will see it, would have it, and will have it in the right universe. Knowing that was always comforting, and he’s already seen their happy ending. He keeps it in the back of his mind as a cornerstone, a reminder that he’s not lost her, not really.

But here and now, it feels like goodbye.

There is a sniffle and then “…yeah.” Christine voice is tight and full of unshed tears.

“Yes.” Stephen confirms for her, softly.

_Just for a moment_. He reaches out to take her hand in his. He feels her thumb run along the inside of his thumb to his palm and back and forth and back and forth. It moves through him in waves— no, like ripples on a pond. He can feel it all the way through to the other side of his other hand. He must look down at himself to make sure his body isn’t allowing it to show physically. Strange is pretty sure the universe can see how Christine Palmer is able to pull his heart from his body. She could if she wanted to, and resuscitate him, here and now. A second chance. But it’s too late, he’s Doctor Strange now. Sorcerer Supreme, and must protect Earth from all the unknowns, all of the universes and realities trying to break this one apart. He can’t go back now.

“But just not this one.” Christine pulls the words from her throat, forcing her vocal chords to make the sounds make sense. A truth, and it almost knocks her over, would have if Stephen hadn’t been holding her hand still.

Christine is so brave, she has no idea. She’s so lovely, and brave, when she meets his eyes. Wordless, Stephen shakes his head. No. They’d never see a happy ending in this world. Love can not divide and conquer here, when faced with the universe. He cannot be selfish and turn his back on the people of this world. Her mouth perks up in a sad smile of understanding. She turns back, and he slowly closes the sky up until the stars are the Earth’s stars, until that small wonder fills her body again.

“But I have loved you, will always love you. That is definite, perpetual. There were no universes that could change that.” Stephen hopes that she finds that reassuring. There’s a nod and a serene smile he can see a sliver of from the side of his eye. It’s a small thing, barely a comfort, but perhaps it will be enough for now. He kisses her hair and then leaves while he can tell himself it’s worth it to leave.

He can’t afford to look back. He knows that in this universe, this reality, he’s not meant to look back. He’s not the Stephen Strange that gets to be happy, the man that can be everything Christine Palmer needs.

“I love you too.” Christine calls just as the sliding door separates them.

The apartment fractures into the mirror world, so he can conjure a portal and go back to his Sanctum.

He doesn’t look back. This Christine won’t be allowed to keep him, but there are other realities where Christine does.

It is enough. Must be enough. _Enough_. He tells himself. Cloak pats his shoulder, sympathy. He shakes his head, and his feelings scatter like pollen on a breeze.

He’s Doctor Strange, and Christine Palmer is not his reality. Not in this dimension.

———

**Author's Note:**

> See what I mean? Sentimental nonsense. But I loved it. Felt so good, didn't it? But I didn't even write any porn. That's just ridiculous. Blech. There's just not enough I could say to recuse myself from this utter nonsense that you probably adore and frankly I don't mind. You love it, I love it. Let's just leave it at that.
> 
> Let me know what you think.
> 
> Comments and Kudos are our currency of love, spread the wealth around.


End file.
